


Hunchback Discourse

by qwanderer



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Other, The Hunchback of Notre Dame (Disney), arguing about movies, obviously, specifically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:59:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24480904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qwanderer/pseuds/qwanderer
Summary: “My dear,” Aziraphale said gently, “it's just a story.”“Just a st! Why w! You! Whenever I say oh, it's just a book, you!”“I’m not saying that stories aren’t important!” Aziraphale countered. “But you hardly ever react so strongly to them yourself, and it worries me.” He made a moue. “Oh, on that subject, if you react this way to the children's cartoon, you must never ever read the book.”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 69





	Hunchback Discourse

**Author's Note:**

> This is a silly idea I got in one of my discord servers and it's been sitting in my WIP folder for like a month but today I've been trying to finish some WIPs! To get them out of my head! So you get this even though I already finished and posted another story earlier today.

A certain angel and a certain demon had been spending a lot more time together since the world hadn’t ended, and inevitably, they’d expanded their repertoire from the neverending cycle of business, dinner and drinks to include things like brunch, going to the farmer’s market, and movie night. 

Crowley was the only one of the two of them who kept up with the ever-growing human catalogue of movies at all, but after a heated argument about the characterization of 007 and in what ways it strayed from the original Ian Fleming novels, they traded off selecting movies. Not because Aziraphale seemed to want to watch book-based movies in particular, but because Crowley was so delighted to hear him get flustered over the ways the movies interpreted his beloved books. 

Crowley especially cherished the time Aziraphale’s selection had ended up being a particularly saccharine interpretation of  _ A Little Princess _ which, Aziraphale maintained, had been “a butchery of the true drama of the source material.”

(They declared a moratorium on Shakespeare play-based movies after Crowley suffered through Ethan Hawke’s interminable Hamlet monologues, only to have Aziraphale simply say he quite enjoyed the way the cultural contexts meshed to bring out new aspects of the story.)

“Are you sure?” Crowley asked, one evening, when Aziraphale presented him with a copy of the Disney animated film  _ The Hunchback of Notre Dame. _ “This is a kid’s movie, you know, and a musical adaptation, and those aren’t always your cup of tea, Angel.”

Aziraphale dipped his head in an unhesitating nod. “Ms. Pepper, the dear girl, has recommended it very highly, and I am beginning to have a certain amount of trust in her taste. We had a fascinating discussion about interpretations of the work of Oscar Wilde and Jane Austen. And I did so enjoy the book. It moves me to tears, you know, even after so many years.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows, indicating his skepticism at that point being salient at all.

“Well,” Aziraphale said, pursing his lips, “it can’t hurt to give it a try.”

Having never read the book himself, Crowley was not in a position to argue. He looked forward to sitting back and watching the sparks fly.

He was, therefore, shocked to find himself forgetting to watch Aziraphale’s reactions as he became deeply involved in the movie himself. But there he was, sitting, jaw clenched, as Esmeralda talked to Her in a way that was achingly familiar. Fingers itching to intervene as the heroes were grabbed and put to a cursory public trial in a murky underground compound. 

And as the credits rolled, it wasn’t Aziraphale who was shouting.

“That was ridiculous,” Crowley found himself snapping. “Terrible ending. Completely nonsensical.”

“Oh, really?” Aziraphale asked. “How so?”

“Esmeralda obviously should have picked Quasimodo!”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. After a moment, he said carefully, “Do you think so?”

“‘Course I think so!” Crowley burst out. “Don’t you?”

“I rather enjoyed the ending as it was,” Aziraphale said, “despite the changes from the original.” He put down his glass and folded his arms in his lap, turning to face Crowley more fully. “It seemed perfectly reasonable, and fitting for this version of the story.”

Crowley spluttered, trying to figure out where to even start, responding to that. "But... But Quasi is the one with substance!” he managed. “I don't get it!"

“My dear,” Aziraphale said gently, “it's just a story.”

“Just a st! Why w! You! Whenever I say oh, it's just a book, you!” 

“I’m not saying that stories aren’t important!” Aziraphale countered. “But you hardly ever react so strongly to them yourself, and it worries me.” He made a moue. “Oh, on that subject, if you react this way to the children's cartoon, you must never ever read the book.”

“Why, what happens in the book?” Crowley asked, eyes narrowing.

“It's better you don't know,” Aziraphale told him.

Crowley gave him a long look. “When has that ever, ever stopped me?” he said.

Aziraphale winced.

“Crowley,” he said after taking a breath, “why are you so invested in this? I mean, not the story as a whole, that's obvious. You clearly relate deeply to Esmeralda. But the romance. Why not Phoebus?”

“Ngk.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Crowley managed to get the words out, “Angel, you have to know.”

“I’m afraid I may,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley’s heart sank like a stone. “Then you don’t… you couldn’t… see yourself, feeling that way…” Crowley gulped. “‘Bout me?”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened, and he reached out, hands coming to rest lightly on top of Crowley’s. “Oh, no, my dear! That’s not it at all! But the problem is, there isn’t a single character in that story that I relate to as strongly as you do with Esmeralda.”

Crowley blinked. He looked at Aziraphale’s hands on his. Then he turned his hands over to clasp Aziraphale’s.

It took him a moment to find the thread of the conversation again.

“I would have thought you saw yourself in Quasimodo,” he finally said.

Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully. “I'd like to,” he said. “But I fear I am still too much what I was created to be. A guard who wields a sword.”

“Huh.” Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s hands a little, just because apparently that was something he could do now. “Never occurred to me.”

Aziraphale smiled somewhat tightly. "I'm afraid you may have possibly fallen in love with who I've pretended to be.”

“Nuh,” Crowley objected, shaking his head. “I know you. I know you. You’re down here mixing with humans because you love them, because it’s where you want to be, not just because it’s where you’re stationed. If you were stationed Upstairs, you’d be down every chance you got. You learn about them and you do what you can for them.”

“And yet I  _ am _ stationed here, with a sword, and I see myself more in this version of Phoebus. The soldier who cared, but who followed orders until he could no longer justify it to himself. Not the innocent boy on his first excursion away from home.”

Crowley made a face, and then he said, “Mmnh, well, maybe Phoebus isn’t so bad, then. But, Aziraphale. You’re everything good about them both, and more. You know what I see in Quasimodo? The way he appreciates things. Enjoys them. Just gets transported by his experiences. You’ve been down here for six thousand years, yeah, but you still do that. You still find new things and get that look on your face, wide-eyed wonder, and you just soak it all in.  _ That’s _ you. That’s what I love.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said softly. He looked lighter, now. He almost glowed.

“Yeah,” Crowley agreed.

“Well, that’s…” It was Aziraphale who was having trouble finding words, now. “I’m glad. My darling.”

Crowley reached one hand up to cup Aziraphale’s cheek. “I think maybe Esmeralda was at least a little in love with both of them, in the end. How lucky am I that I don't have to choose one half of what you are?”

Aziraphale pulled him in, and kissed him soundly.

After that night, their list of activities was once again considerably expanded, and they didn’t spend as much time arguing over movies now that they had even nicer things to do to occupy their mouths.

And they lived happily ever after.


End file.
